


What a Thing to Apologize For

by unfolded73



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 13:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10279571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: Spoilers for 6x12, follows immediately on from the end of that episode. Warning for the self-loathing of Killian Jones.





	

He opens the door to the house gingerly when he can finally bring himself to do it, when he’s resisted the temptation to just fucking _run away_ , to go down to the harbor and cast off the ropes anchoring the _Jolly Roger_ to the dock. To sail away before he causes these people that he’s come to care for more pain.

Killian follows the sound of the television, comes upon the warm tableau of his family (not yet – maybe not ever). Emma is curled up under an afghan, her bowl of popcorn and melted candy balanced on her lap. Henry says something about the show they’re watching – a scary tale of a sad orphaned lass who can kill people with her mind and a desperate parent who seems to be able to communicate with her lost son via electric lights. Emma and Henry were watching it together before she got taken to that wish realm, and now they’ve picked it back up again as if nothing happened, as if Emma didn’t almost die between one episode and the next. He wonders, not for the first time, why they crave these scary stories from the television when their lives are terrifying enough.

Emma lifts the end of the afghan in invitation, and so he shucks his jacket off and sits down next to her, enjoying her warmth as she leans into him, her cheek pressed against his bicep. He feels her sigh and relax, as if his presence was the only piece of the puzzle she was lacking.

It’s only a short while before she lifts her head, and he can feel her looking at him.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Tired,” he answers, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close again. It’s not a lie; he _is_ tired after a day of chasing after David and trying to keep him from doing something he will regret. A day of so many emotional highs and lows that he can hardly believe it’s only been about fourteen hours since he awoke, Emma’s arm slung over his waist in sleep and a determination in his heart to speak to her father about his intentions as soon as he can.

“Do you want some?” she whispers, gesturing to the bowl. Emma picks up a gooey ball of chocolate and pops it in her mouth, licking her messy fingers and making his heart clench with how desperately he loves her. He loves everything about her: her strength and her determination and even her terrible taste in food.

Guilt sits in his stomach like a stone, and he shakes his head at the proffered snack. “I’m fine, love. Thanks.”

Emma reaches over and passes the bowl to Henry before snuggling into him, her eyes again fixed on the television. Contentment is coming off of her in waves. She’s happy – he _makes_ her happy, and the idea of telling her something that would shake the foundation of that happiness terrifies him.

“I love you,” he murmurs, because it’s suddenly impossible not to.

“Love you too,” she answers absently, and it’s almost more powerful than the desperate I love yous exchanged when one or both of them were in mortal peril. Her automatic, easy response is symbolic of everything they have now, everything they’re building. A home and a life, together. A marriage, he’d hoped.

He thinks of the ring, sitting over in his jacket pocket. If he hadn’t run into August, if those damnable pages hadn’t sparked a shameful memory, he might have asked her tonight. He’s imagined it a thousand different ways, but as he walked home, he decided he would keep things simple: wait until Henry went to bed and then go down on one knee right here in their living room and ask her to be his wife. He is confident enough in their relationship that he doesn’t really doubt she’ll say yes. Emma Swan’s walls are long gone, at least where he is concerned.

And he still can. He can bury that memory deep, the memory of killing that anonymous man, one of many in his long, long life. A man who seemed of little consequence at the time, a loose end to be disposed of because Peter Pan wouldn’t stand for loose ends, not from his most important supplier. Captain Hook knew how to tie up loose ends. Captain Hook kept his eyes on the prize and didn’t let men of little consequence get in the way of his vengeance.

So now Killian Jones can just forget all about it. No one will ever have to know. He can ask this magical woman to marry him tonight, and she will say yes, and then the time will come when David will walk his daughter down the aisle, looking at him with so much pride and happiness, just as he looked tonight when he gave his blessing.

No. It's no use. He can't carry this secret around, not and be the man he wants to be. He will have to tell Emma and her family the truth and then accept the consequences. Even if it means losing them, the woman who means more to him than his own life, the boy who is becoming a son to him, the friend who reminds him so much of his brother Liam sometimes that it makes his heart hurt.

A tear slips from his eye, and he carefully reaches up and wipes it away before Emma notices.

Words begin to scroll up the television screen and the little box appears that prompts the viewer to watch one more episode, but Emma sits up and stretches and turns it off. She and Henry are excitedly chatting about the events of the program, and Killian hears none of it, lost in his own thoughts. When Emma offers him a hand to pull him to his feet, he goes with her willingly, swept along in the tide of her cheerfulness.

He gets ready for bed automatically, moving around Emma in the bathroom as she takes off her makeup and brushes her teeth, dressed only in a tank top and underwear. This easy intimacy between them is so commonplace now, but he pauses and watches her and takes a moment to cherish it close to his heart. Even if she can't forgive him for the hurt he caused her father, even if it poisons their love beyond repair, Killian will have these memories. He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of her soap and tries to create a memory that he won’t ever forget.

She curls up next to him in the dark, the bedroom faintly lit by moonlight, her bare leg slung over his and her head pillowed on his chest. He lies still and quiet and breathes her in, cataloging every sensation of having Emma Swan in his arms.

He thought she was falling asleep, so he is surprised when her fingers start to trace patterns on his hipbone, up and down and over to the crease where his leg connects with his pelvis. It is almost tempting to smile at her lack of subtlety.

Her warm palm cups him through his underwear, stroking gently and trying to bring him to life. After a minute, she lifts her head and regards him, her hand stopping its fruitless motion against his soft cock.

“Sorry, I’m being an asshole, you said you were tired.” Her nose wrinkles adorably.

She is giving him an out and he should take it, he thinks. He certainly shouldn’t let himself enjoy her body with what he knows he will have to tell her. Pushing all of that aside, he spans her cheek with his palm and kisses her, kisses her until arousal works its way through him and burns away his swirling thoughts, until the next time her hand finds him he is hard and ready for her.

They pull their few clothes off without ceremony and Emma climbs on top of him, writhing against him and pleasuring herself before shifting and taking him inside. He thinks of her first night back from the wish realm, when she dragged him upstairs, tipsy and giggling from a little too much champagne. They were barely able to make love to each other for smiling too much. It felt like the future lay out in front of them in a long, winding road that would be filled with nights like that, nights of laughter and passion. Now he wonders if he is back to counting the nights he might have left with her on his one hand.

She is a goddess, a siren, all long, blonde hair and creamy skin as she rocks in a slow rhythm, her hands braced on either side of his head. After some time she shifts, sitting more upright and gripping the headboard to give herself more leverage. She closes her eyes and he watches her as she takes her pleasure, listens as her breath starts to come in faster, hitching gasps. When she comes she is quiet, but he can see it in the way her face scrunches up and then relaxes, can feel it in the spasms of her muscles around him.

Emma continues to move, barely breaking her stride, going faster now and dropping back down so that her breasts are within reach of his mouth, because she knows him and she knows what he likes. But his release is a long way off, and while once he might have urged her to get on her hands and knees, fucking into her from behind until he finds his own climax, he is too sad and too heartsick to do that now.

“Sorry, love, I’m just too exhausted. It’s not gonna happen.” He feels himself flush as he grips her hip to stop her movement.

“You sure? We can change position,” she says, because of course she knows that about him too. “I really don’t mind.”

Killian just shakes his head. “You can make it up to me.”

Emma dismounts, and he can see the worry in the furrow between her brows. “I’m sorry.”

He rolls over and kisses her gently on the lips. “What a thing to apologize for,” he says, trying to project happiness. And even with everything he’s learned tonight, there _is_ happiness within him. How can there not be when he has the love of such a woman? “I’m glad I could bring you pleasure, my love. I’m always glad of that.”

“If you say so. I will make it up to you tomorrow, though.” She turns under his arm, spooning back against his chest. “I love you.”

If there were a genie available to him, even knowing the way wishes get twisted, he would be hard pressed not to wish that Emma would stay with him forever. Not to wish that he could have her as his wife, in spite of how little he deserves her.

“I love you, too, Emma. I always will.”


End file.
